A Helping Hand
by Katie Havok
Summary: It's a sign of how stressed he is when he nods once, short and sharp, before rolling his head back to meet her eyes. "I'd be most honored, Miss Goldstein," and there's a flash of humor there, a bit of her Newt, so she smiles and sets to work.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: _**smut!**_ This was originally published on Ao3 January 12th, 2017 and is being included here for the sake of my own ego.

* * *

Tina watches him from across the room, faintly concerned and growing impatient with the crush of people around him.

The signing sessions had been his publisher's idea, though Newt had expressed reservations. In the end, the publishing house had worn him down by pointing out how _important_ it was for Newt to acknowledge his fan base. The offer of a sizable advance on the next edition of the book certainly hadn't hurt, and Newt was eventually won over.

He agreed with no little grace and went along with the signing, grumbling the entire way, to be promptly thronged by swooning, perfumed, mostly _female_ admirers, and Tina was _not_ jealous. She was _not_ , because Newt was demonstrably miserable, hunched into himself and fervently avoiding eye contact, and if the rigid line of his neck and shoulders grew any tighter, he'd either snap or crumble to pieces. It physically hurt her to watch him, and as was so often the case, this new _understanding_ of him was equal parts terrifying and wondrous.

Queenie must have picked up on the run of her thoughts because suddenly she's beside Tina and murmuring in her ear. "You know it ain't like that," she says, and Tina quashes her momentary irritation. The other woman is only trying to help, after all. Queenie senses this, too, and nods. "All he can think about is how much he'd rather be somewhere quiet. With _you_. Also, that all the heavy smells make him feel kinda sick."

Reassuring pronouncement made, Queenie winks and floats away on her own draft of perfume and sunshine, while Tina resumes her hawk-eyed assessment of the crowds. Newt lifts his head and meets her gaze at one point, looking abjectly dismal. His fingers are stained with the peacock-blue ink he favors, the precise same shade as his greatcoat—and for such an innately _humble_ man to make a single concession to vanity charms Tina in ways she cannot articulate.

After a small eternity, the clock chimes to signal the end of the scheduled session, and Tina springs into action. She swoops in behind Newt and calls upon all her Brooklyn-bred forbearance—and not a little of her Auror training—to haul him out of his seat and guide him through the crowd. He is pliant and uncomplaining as she leads him through the room, and when she takes his arm to Disapparate them away, he heaves a great sigh and murmurs his thanks.

"Anytime," she responds, chancing a slight smile, and swirls them into the void.

* * *

Once safely behind locked doors, she helps him out of greatcoat and suit coat and watches him loosen his waistcoat and bow tie. He hesitates for a moment, eying her cautiously before he loses the waistcoat entirely and lowers his braces. Then he sinks into the couch with his fingers knotted behind his neck, eyes closed and mouth bowed in discomfort.

"Headache?" she asks, and she's careful to keep her voice pitched low.

He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders. "Not so bad as that, no. I'm just— _tense_. I don't much like crowds, and all that _buggering_ perfume made me feel rather ill."

Tina hangs her coat and clucks sympathetically before moving behind him, hands cautiously dropping onto his shoulders. This _thing_ between them is still tentative and new, despite their mutually proclaimed intent, and she finds herself treating him like a skittish animal at times. They've kissed, and there have been many heated touches, but that's as far as they've allowed it to go. Tina is quite certain his British sensibilities are what's holding him back, because _desire_ has been writ large on his face after every attempt at more fumbled to a halt, and she is frustrated by his reticence.

"Is this okay?" she asks, careful to keep her touch light, her tone detached, as she sinks her fingers into his shirt and kneads. She's decided already that he will most likely turn her down, and she steels herself for rejection.

It's a sign of how stressed he is when he nods once, short and sharp, before rolling his head back to meet her eyes. "I'd be _most_ honored, Miss Goldstein," he murmurs, and there's a flash of humor there, a bit of her Newt, so she smiles and sets to work.

The muscles in his shoulders are rock-hard and tense beneath her hands. Tutting, she kneads and rolls them between her fingers. As she pinches and rubs, Newt's eyes drift close and she watches the lines of his frame start to relax. She works at the knots until they are pliant and loose, then rubs along his neck. Wrapping her digits around the upper knobs of his spine and rolling them causes him to make a low sound of contentment. Smiling to herself, Tina trails her hands up and over his scalp and he _purrs_. She likes that sound so she lingers for a moment, petting his hair and watching the last of the tension leak out of him.

He opens his eyes and catches her wrist. "Come here, Tina."

She allows herself to be pulled around the couch and into the circle of his arms, and she's beyond pleased when he hauls her into his lap. Newt kisses her, slow and lazy and undemanding. He does a thorough job of it, and when they come back up for air, she discovers that something altogether different has gone hard and tense against the swell of her bottom.

Newt becomes aware of his new predicament at the same time she does, and his ears flush pink. He doesn't hide or look away, and Tina silently gives him credit for his bravado. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "It's purely physiological, I assure you—a response to, ah, _deep_ relaxation. Just ignore it, it will go away on its own."

Tina has always been the studious, prickly older sister, but she's far from innocent. She's not a virgin, though all encounters up until now have been short and perfunctory. She's also possessing of a wide streak of impetuous humor—she knows she _should_ leave it alone, she should _not_ open either of them up to potential embarrassment—but instead, she wriggles against him, very slightly, with a smirk. She is gratified when he sucks in a quick breath and his eyes widen, lips parting in a shocked huff.

Newt studies her face for a moment, sensing the impish run of her thoughts, before turning the tables on her by grasping her waist in iron-hard hands and dragging her down onto him, rocking his pelvis upward in one quick jolt. Suddenly, the room is far too warm, the air too thick for sufficient breath. Tina watches him reassert control of himself and quickly realizes _she doesn't want that_. Scrambling to make him stop with the self-imposed suffering, she grinds down on him and takes his hands in hers.

"We've been slow and careful, right?" she asks and waits for his hesitant nod before continuing. "I'm not saying we should do anything else, but I could...take care of that for you. I think I just proved I'm good with my hands." She leans forward to kiss him, pouring all of her want into it, before drawing back and taking in his face.

She watches his pupils crowd out all but the barest hint of green at the edge of his iris. His lips part, drawn tight at the corners, and she can read the cost of controlling himself clearly. Operating mostly on instinct, and desperate to return Newt to his boneless state, Tina shifts until she's straddling him and that insistent hardness is pressed against her center. She's wearing the black skirt he loves and there's little more than her step-ins between them, so she carefully _does not think_ about how intensely good he feels because this is entirely for him and he needs to be convinced.

She kisses him until he's breathless, until he nods and begs against her lips. "Yes, Tina, _please_..."

Newt trails his mouth over her jaw. The rasp of his stubble distracts her terribly, so she pulls away and reclaims his lips before he can stammer an apology. She moves her mouth downward and over the column of his throat—textured and salty with sweat—to taste the small sounds he makes, before dropping a kiss onto his chest.

Tina knows, intellectually, that she could keep going. She could peel off his shirt and lave his chest with kisses, learn the detail of every scar she's felt under her wandering hands and kiss the line of hair that starts at his navel. She also knows that doing so would either blow his control entirely, or cause him to stop, and then she'd have to watch him limp around for days while studiously avoiding her eyes. She makes a calculated move to bypass his shirt by moving off his lap and pooling herself at his feet, while her hands go to the placket of his trousers to firmly palm what strains beneath.

She hesitates for only a moment, faced with an unknown variable, and lifts her head. Newt catches her eye, and his gaze is so fiercely heated that it gives her the courage she needs. She draws a few deep breaths to bring the tremble of her hands under control before she opens the buttons of his fly. Newt's eyes slip closed as she works, and his long, slow breaths gust over her hands. She parts his underwear with the same steady confidence and takes a moment to collect herself before reaching in and pulling him out.

The first things she notices is the texture, warm velvet over stone. He is larger and hotter in her hands than she would have expected, and a fissure of warmth runs through her to pool in her belly. Before her wondering eyes, she sees that this part of him is built much like his hands: elegant and capable and ropey. It is also quite _freckled_ , and she has to ruthlessly bite her lip to contain an inopportune snort of laughter.

Newt senses her humor anyways, because his eyes harden when he opens them, and he seems on the verge of protest. Alarmed, she tightens her hold on him and flicks her wrist upward, feeling triumphant when his stare turns hazy. Tina does it again and his eyes drift closed, so she allows it to become a rhythm, alternating the tension of her grip and the speed of her movements, and watches him carefully.

Newt is boneless to the point of melting into the couch, and his breathing roughens while she works him over. She observes his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallows, and she tracks what causes that result so she can repeat it. After a few minutes of this, trembling hands cover her own and halt them.

"Wait," he gasps, and he frees her hands before repositioning them, bringing her to the base of his shaft and firming her grip. "Like this, Tina." He guides her firmly, from base to tip, and directs her into an odd half-swirl before sinking back down. He hovers for a few strokes until he's confident she's capable of torquing her wrist at the angle he needs. His hands relax against his thighs while he stares at her through heavy-lidded eyes.

Tina finds her hands doing what they need to do on their own and takes this opportunity to watch her Newt come apart under her, shameless and open and _free_ in a way she hasn't witnessed before. She places her head on his tense thigh and makes small sounds of encouragement, watching the part of him she holds flush deep red as she dismantles his defenses.

Newt groans once, deep in his chest, and maintains intense eye contact. He twitches in her hands with another sound and she watches his lips part, pulling back from his teeth. His head falls forward and his hands curl into fists when he gasps her name, incredibly loud in the silence of the room. Another plaintive gasp and he _pulses_ where she holds him. His breathing stutters to a halt while his hips snap up once, twice—then pearly fluid spills over her hand at the same time her name tumbles from his mouth, and he is loose and trembling and _released_ beneath her.

She murmurs as she eases him through it, stilling her hands when he shakily clasps them. Looking up, she finds Newt wonderfully debauched, hair tangled, lips parted and cheeks flushed, and the warmth in Tina's belly cools and retracts. He is observably _done_ with everything, so she remains still as he fishes about for something to clean her up with before shrugging and using his waistcoat.

He tucks himself back into his trousers while Tina rights her skirt, and lays his head in her lap when she climbs onto the couch.

It takes a while for Newt's breathing to even out, and when it does he presses his face into her stomach before rolling to look at her. "Thank you," he says, and she knows he's not just talking about how they've defiled the furniture.

She smiles back at him, the small, secret smile she only allows him to see, and pushes an errant lock of hair off his forehead. "You're welcome, Newt," she whispers and leans down to kiss him.

They kiss until he mumbles against her mouth, and she pulls away to raise an interrogative eyebrow. "I said, I should like to try that again sometime—on you." The surprising forwardness of the statement renders her speechless, and it's his turn to look at her cheekily. "Don't act so surprised, Miss Goldstein. Surely you know by now that I'm _quite_ infatuated with you. Just please, do make sure you keep your garters _on_ when the time comes. I find them most... _stimulating_."

Tina bursts into surprised laughter and swats him on the shoulder. Newt rolls to absorb the blow before catching her hand and laying a wet kiss on her palm. "I'll keep them on if that's what you want. But you are an inappropriate _ass_ and I may not let you try for a while!"

If she sounds doubtful of her own conviction, he doesn't respond to it. Instead, he grows serious and meets her eyes.

"Yes," Newt says, reaching to cup her cheek. "I may be an ass, but I am _entirely_ yours. I'll try to be better about showing it, Tina." She is absurdly touched by this gesture, and unwarranted tears prickle the corner of her eyes. Newt runs a thumb beneath to wipe them away, then absently sucks it into his mouth before rolling his head further into her lap, settling down with a sigh of contentment.

Tina strokes his hair as he drowses and eventually falls asleep, cradled by her thighs and snoring lightly. She sits awake a while longer, flitting her fingers over him, allowing him a well-earned rest and marveling at the wonder of it all.


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes to the feel of soft kisses on her stomach, and a shaggy head shifting beneath her hand.

It hasn't been long, according to the fire before them. Perhaps an hour. But Newt's awake and bright-eyed, and he's watching her with a speculative gleam that recalls the warmth of earlier, the one she'd cooled after he had come undone in her hands.

He pushes his face further into her lap and inhales deeply. "You smell good," he says, and sudden color floods Tina's cheeks. Seems we're both feeling bold today, but she honestly can't say she minds. In fact, as liquid warmth reignites in her stomach, she finds she doesn't mind at all.

He rolls until he's on his knees, cupping her face and kissing her deeply. He comes up for air and presses his stubble into her jaw and neck, the places he knows inflames her and makes her breath come in heaves. Newt moves lower, to where the buttons of her blouse lay against her chest, and he kisses the creamy bit of exposed skin there. Strong hands knead the large muscle of her thighs before gliding over her hips, and when he raises his head his expression is hungry.

"About those garters..." he starts, bashful tone at odds with the heat in his gaze, and Tina bursts into delighted laughter. Newt doesn't seem to mind; he just grins and ducks his head. She wraps her arms around him as he continues. "Would you think me terrible if I—" He cuts himself off abruptly and squeezes her leg, and Tina knows he struggles with words, more often than not, and he struggles with his own perception of inadequacy, so she sighs fondly and nods, ignoring his reticence.

"Of course," and her tone is softer than she intended but that's okay because he's giving her that look, the one he gives her every time she does something he doesn't expect. She'd seen it first on the docks, when she'd said the name of his book and it seemed a revelation to him because he had caught her gaze and held it, unflinching. He had caught her heart too, but she couldn't tell him that. Not then. She thinks he may have an inkling now if the warmth in his eyes is any indication.

"You are a wonder," he mumbles against her mouth, kissing her properly. She melts into it with a speed that takes them both by surprise, and she doesn't protest when he catches the top button of her blouse and unhooks it, before moving on to the next one. He yanks her blouse from the confining band of her skirt and slips a hand inside, trailing over the satin of her corselet.

His mouth moves lower, skipping her neck entirely to nip at the upper edge of her camisole, satin over skin, cream on snowy-white. Tina struggles to breathe, and Newt presses the flat of his tongue against her flesh and stills his movements, allowing her to calm. Once she's settled, he hauls her against him and nips her collarbone and the curve of her shoulder, catching one thin strap in his teeth and growling.

Tina distantly blames her oxygen-deprived state when her hands find the placket of her skirt and deftly flicks the buttons. She has no such excuse when she wiggles to help him pull the skirt down and over her hips, to be left in a crumpled pile on the floor. And she can't fathom any reason for him to be removing her blouse too, leaving her shockingly exposed in only her corselet and garters and stockings.

Newt must see her confusion, or he's been hiding a latent talent for Legilimency, because his mouth is suddenly damp against her ear, voice low and soothing. "Men don't require much," he explains, hand rubbing soothing circles into her stomach. "The turn of a pretty ankle and we're ready to rut like a beast in season. A woman's body, on the other hand—" here she can feel his lips curve into a smile, and she calms almost instinctively "—is uniquely suited to the build-up that comes with human mating."

He punctuates his last three words with timed nips to her earlobe, and Tina finds that whatever hesitation she may have experienced has been burned away by the flames of sheer desire he stokes within her. She is pliant in his hands, and the heat in her stomach is a conflagration, leaving her slick and wanting.

There's triumph in his expression when he dips in to taste the swell of her breast, tucked into the edge of her corselet. That quickly fades to adoration as he sucks and tastes and nibbles, before clamping clever teeth over the peak of a nipple through the fabric, laving it with his tongue. Tina is vaguely aware that she's probably embarrassing herself, writhing against him like a bitch in heat, desperate for contact. Mostly, she's aware that this teasing has spiraled quickly out-of-control, and that it's likely to get away from them both—and that she, gloriously and indecently, doesn't care a wit.

You can have me, she thinks through the haze of lust, his teeth finding her other nipple and tugging. The sheer carnality of the action hazes her vision, for a moment; when she returns to herself, she finds her legs have wrapped around him, quite of their own volition. You can have all of me, Newt. It's yours to take.

Gentle, steady hands untangle her legs while his mouth moves lower, over the boning and hooks on her stomach, before dropping an open-mouth kiss on the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. Tina chokes, but he's already moving on, sliding his teeth along her garters and groaning in ecstasy. Then his mouth find the tops of her stockings, where creamy flesh and silk meet, and he nibbles and sucks and bites until Tina tangles her hand in his hair and yanks his head away, skin flayed pink with his adorations.

Tina isn't sure where this thunder-struck version of Newt has been hiding, but she finds it alarmingly easy to reconcile this creature with the tender-hearted, sometimes-awkward, always-kind man she knows. Her Newt contains multitudes, she muses, and if the slightly wild look in his eye is any indications, he's as comfortable with this aspect of himself as he is any other.

He mumbles an apology before moving on to her other leg, still fervent but gentler. She doesn't have to worry about bruising, here. He moves slowly back up her thigh, closer to the moist jungle of her sex—and then he rests his head on her leg and simply breathes, long and slow. Green eyes seek out hers, find them, hold them.

"DoI have your permission?"

Tina wants to come back with typical acerbity but finds she's unable to think of anything besides him and his hands, his mouth, and the things he makes her feel. She fumbles out a gasping nod, jerking her chin at herself to imply concession, before allowing her eyes to close.

Three trembling fingers cover her sex entirely, and they groan in unison. She feels him shift as two fingers open her up, parting her outer layers to get to the folds hidden within, and he makes another pleased sound. "You're so pretty here," he husks out, and Tina finds that holding her head up is too much work. It falls against the back of the couch with a thunk as another wave of molten heat flows through her.

Newt traces the outer edge of her folds, spreading her natural lubrication around before dipping a finger inside. He crooks it to watch her tremble, then eases it out and up, swirling around the bud of her clit. She quakes against him when he flicks her experimentally, thighs jerking against his shoulders. He does it again before returning to where she's open and weeping for his touch, slotting two scarred fingers into her and setting an unhurried pace.

His mouth breathes damp halos over her thighs, the skin on her hips, nipping at the lower edge of her corselet. His fingers push her to the brink and hold her therewhile Tina twists and mewls beneath him, desperate for further contact. She can feel him smirking against her skin, so her fingers find his hair and she tugs hard—and is rewarded with a gasp and involuntary jerk of his hips.

He adds a third finger, and now there's a delicious stretching burn along with the friction he creates, but it still isn't enough. He grows intent and serious in a blink, cataloging her reactions, and his thumb glides over her clit to increase sensation. Still, she's flayed and on edge and unable to find that extra push she needs to tumble over, and passion is quickly turning to frustration.

He makes a soothing sound and removes this thumb. "What do you need, Tina?"

She knows this tone of voice. It's the one he uses when attempting to mollify a scared or threatened animal. Tina fists the couch cushion and growls at him. "I don't know! I could never do it this way, not even to myself! I thought it would work for you but..."

Newt withdraws his hand entirely and sucks his fingers into his mouth. He takes his time cleaning them, making sure she's watching, before returning his head to her inner thigh. "I could use my mouth, I suppose. Would that help?"

He's attempting to be nonchalant, so Tina aims for levity with her reply. It's difficult when she's spread before him in only her underclothes, panting and yearning for his touch and this close to release. There's no keeping the pleading out of her voice, or the disappointment. "I don't know, no one's ever done it before. You could try if you want."

Newt keeps his eyes on her when he dips his chin and licks her, long and slow, from the base of her slit to the apex of her mound. The effect is instantaneous and galvanizing, and Tina doesn't have the presence of mind to be ashamed of the ragged gasp that's wrenched from her. He presses his mouth to the cup of her sex and swirls his tongue over her, feather-light and quick, and a series of garbled curses spill from Tina's lips.

"Merlin's balls," she manages and presses her heel into his back in encouragement. He steps up the intensity of his licks, groaning happily and alternating between quick flits of his tongue and long pulls, while two fingers work her from the inside. Tina is brought to the edge and she hovers there, poised to tumble over—but still frustratingly unable because his fingers aren't long enough to achieve the depth and pressure she requires. It's a maddening realization, for both of them.

Tina wails and wrenches her hips away from him, overstimulated body on the verge of revolt. Newt wraps himself around her legs and attempts to calm her, but she can see he's in a state himself, flushed and sweaty, wide-eyed and sharing her frustration. She can also see that he'd be capable of solving her problem in an altogether different fashion because the front of his trousers sports a bulge she recognizes. Her body responds viscerally to the sight, and she clenches her thighs while gritting her teeth.

His eyes fall to where hers linger before he raises them solemnly. "I had intended to wait on that," he starts, and Tina deflates. He hesitates, thinking on it, then he hooks her legs to tug her forward, aligning her ass with the edge of the couch and spreading her wantonly. Tina can't stifle her relieved sigh when he reaches to open his trousers and free himself, and her fingers tremble as she eagerly grasps and strokes him.

His eyes drift close as she squeezes and pulls him, teeth catching his bottom lip. "I had intended to wait," he repeats, "but I believe you shall kill me if I don't give you what you need. Are you sure you want to do this, Tina?"

A pulse thrums in her stomach and works through her limbs. In lieu of a verbal response, she uses her hands to line them up and twitches her hip in tacit invitation. Newt takes a moment to shrug out of his shirt and push his trousers down before guiding her legs up and over his shoulders. They lock eyes as he shifts his weight onto his arms so he can push forward, sinking into her in one smooth motion.

They groan in unison when he stops, buried in her heat as he kisses her until they're both trembling with restraint. He breaks their kiss to gasp when he experimentally rolls his hips, and Tina's hands latch onto his waist, blunt nails sinking into his skin and leaving bloodless crescents.

He settles into a firm, unhurried rhythm, and his hands are everywhere: tangling in her hair before cupping her breast through her garments, sliding over the silk covering her legs and then dipping into the valley where they are connected, pressing against her clit and smiling faintly when her breath stutters.

After a blissful time, he straightens his back and pulls her hips firmer against his, kissing her calf where it rests by his head. His stroke lengthens with the new angle, and Tina feels herself coiling. She can experience every freckled inch of him this way, and each pass intensifies the pressure within Tina, filling the cup of her euphoria and bringing her closer to release. Thoroughly undone, she uses their shared carnality, the press of him against her and the sound of his gasps and moans over her to weave a tapestry of bliss around them.

He nudges her once more, somehow finding the perfect angle, and the cup overflows. Her orgasm is powerful enough to break out and be its own separate entity, carnal and free. She gives herself to it with a joyous cry, warmth pulsing through her body as she convulsively tightens around him.

Newt slows his pace as she comes, watching with adoring eyes. Tina twitches around his length as he drinks in the flush that takes her chest, the way she curls into herself and simultaneous expands in ecstasy while filling the air with truncated sobs. Her head is thrown back and her lush lips are moist and parted and he's poised to come himself but he won't because she deserves this, and she is magnificent to behold.

Tina returns to herself in stages, her fierce spasms slowing as she regroups, and her body slumps with satiety. She opens her eyes and they share a smile, but he can see that she is almost entirely spent and her legs are trembling, so he ducks his head apologetically and withdraws from her, wincing as the cold air strikes his overheated flesh.

She tightens her arms around him instantaneously, preventing him from being able to pull away. Shaking, she lowers her sore legs and sits up. "We're not done until you're finished," and that's the fierce tone she uses on criminals, rarely on him. She pushes him back gently and slips from the couch, turning to kneel before it and draping her chest over the cushions. She arches her back and cranes her head to meet his eyes.

"My legs are sore, but I think we can finish like this." Her voice is soft again, and she glistens in invitation. Newt closes his eyes—he can imagine the feel of her from this angle, the torque of her hips and the tightness as he fills her, and he fetches a few deep breaths before regaining control. Unwilling to test the issue, he pushes into her with a raw sound and tangles his fingers in the laces over her back, as much for distraction as to gain leverage.

She is slick with her release and still unbelievably warm. He sets a firm pace against her, one hand pressing into her lower back, angling her to allow him to sink deeper, the other working around and between her legs, rubbing and making her pant. The apex of his thrust bumps against something dark and immeasurably pleasurable within her and Tina chokes out his name when she realizes she's once again on the cusp. His hands move to her hips, holding her in place as he begins to snap into her, fast and hard and designed to maximize the friction.

Tina moans helplessly into the cushion as another orgasm sweeps her, less intense than the first but no less welcome. Behind her, she can hear and feel Newt, all but plowing into her now, hips stuttering as he loses rhythm. She keens as she pulses around him, intent on drawing out his release and welcoming it into herself.

He cries out once, long and low, and his head falls back when he shudders to a halt. She can feel him spilling into her, pulsing and hot, and she gives an approving moan. His hands clamp down hard enough to bruise and his head lolls forward, her name a refrain on his lips. Then it's over, and she can feel his breath ghosting across her shoulders. She can also feel where he's attempting to soothe her bruises, gently stroking his knuckles over the flange of her bone.

"Mercy Lewis, Tina," he manages after an indeterminate amount of time has passed, and she smiles at her phrase from his mouth. He shakily withdraws from her and collapses at her side, resting a moment before gathering her in his arms. She is deeply exhausted and deeply relaxed so she makes no attempt at resistance, instead pressing her face into his skin and breathing in the scent of him.

"I know I said I wanted to wait," he murmurs, and Tina makes a feeble attempt at opening her eyes. She quickly gives it up for a bad job. "But I'm very glad we decided against it. That was wonderful."

Tina manages a smile at the wonder in his voice and burrows closer. He hums and drops a kiss on the top of her head, amazingly chaste in comparison to what they've just done. The last thing she knows before sleep claims her is the blanket being pulled around them, tucked into her side, and his voice following her into slumber.


End file.
